


What Doesn't Kill You ...

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: Regan Shepard's Story [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was just another kid from a colony.  What put Regan Shepard on the path to becoming the first human spectre?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Doesn't Kill You ...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to go ahead & make this disclaimer now ... I wrote this a few years ago, and while I went through looking for blatant mistakes and issues, I did not rewrite it and really have no intention of doing so.
> 
> This takes place during ME1 right after the conversation with Kaidan in the mess (after waking up from the beacon going boom).

Regan Shepard sighed, staring at the wall in the crew quarters. She’d had a rough day, and it was only going to get worse. She’d woken up from being … well, from whatever had happened with the beacon on Eden Prime and had a massive headache. She knew Kaidan hadn’t meant to put himself in harm’s way; he’d had no way of knowing that beacon would do anything, let alone try to fry someone’s brain, then explode. She’d kept him from having to deal with it, but … in return, she had to try to handle the after-effects instead.

Kaidan had seemed happy enough that she’d be OK. According to Dr. Chakwas, he’d stationed himself at her side the moment he’d gotten her into the med bay and refused to be run off. The good doctor attributed it to guilt, having heard that Shepard had thrown him out of the way before being levitated and blasted back. Regan couldn’t help but smile, hearing that. It had been a long time since anyone had been that concerned about her; not since she’d escaped Mindoir. He’d even checked on her periodically after she left the med bay. And, if she could be honest with herself for just a moment … he was, in a word, hot. There had been a few boys back home that had been interested in her and one she’d been somewhat interested in, but none could hold a candle to the man serving on the Normandy with her.

They’d talked … flirted, if she was being honest before he asked what brought her to the Alliance, and while she’d given him the standard answer she always gave, it got her thinking. She was fairly certain he could tell there was more to the story, but Kaidan was either polite enough not to ask, or he felt it wasn’t his place to press a higher ranking officer on the ship for more information. Either way, he’d let the matter drop and moved on to other topics, though the new topics often seemed to drift toward her. She was sure she’d eventually tell him more; something about him made her … comfortable. But for now, she kept it to herself, letting her already tired mind drift back into what almost felt like ancient history.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day had started out like every other. She was up before the sun, along with her mother, father & best friend, to work the farm. Their land was large enough that they each had a field to tend, and Regan was eager to be done with her chores. It wasn’t that she didn’t like working the farm; she’d just gotten bored with it. The only consolation was the fact that her dog was with her. Hopper had been a gift from a cousin three years ago, and since then, the pair had been almost inseparable.

Then, things changed. The group had just come in for dinner when the alarm sounded. Mindoir was far enough into the Terminus System that the threat of slavers was very real and each community had a warning siren for just such an emergency. Every farm hold had an escape plan in place to try and protect families, but everything was contingent on getting an early enough warning. Somehow, that day, the warning had come too late. Batarians had begun making their way through the farms, systematically grabbing the humans they thought were the most likely to be sold. Anyone who fought back or was deemed unlikely to bring a profit was killed.

When the sirens went off, Regan’s parents pulled her toward the trap door at the back of the house. Years ago, they had dug a small chamber, large enough for the four of them to stand or kneel, but that was all. “Get in there,” her father whispered, directing Hopper and her best friend, Garrett, into the pit as well. “Keep quiet. We’ll try to drive them off.”

“Dad, you’ll be killed,” she hissed back, risking a glance over her shoulder. She saw her mother pulling weapons she’d never seen before out of a hidden cabinet. “You know what they do to people who fight back.” She watched as her father caught the pistol thrown his way, switching it to his other hand just in time to catch the assault rifle her mother tossed to him as well. Her mother came over, adjusting her hold on a shotgun and the shoulder strap of a sniper rifle as she shook her head.

“What they do to the ones they take is much worse, especially the women,” she sighed, looking at her daughter. She would do _anything_ to keep Regan safe. Her little girl was _not_ going to be taken as a slave if she had anything to say about it. She nodded to her husband, who held out the pistol to his daughter. “Take that. Just in case. And get going.” She gently nudged the protesting teenager toward the shelter.

Her father had one last gift for her. “If they start to open the trap door, use this,” he instructed, tossing her a small circular contraption. “It’s a cloaking device. It won’t last forever, but it _should_ hide you all long enough.” He could see the questions in her eyes; this was not the sort of tech a farmer typically had stashed around the house. As if the weapons they all now wielded weren’t enough of a clue, the cloaking device was a dead giveaway that either her father or mother had served, at some point, in the Alliance military. “Keep her safe, Garrett.”

“I will, Mr. Shepard,” Garrett whispered before pulling the girl the rest of the way into the hideout. He held a finger to his lips, signaling for Hopper to be quiet and pulled his own pistol free of the holster. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be better than nothing. As Mr. Shepard shut the trap door, there was nothing left to do but wait.

For a few minutes, it seemed as though the slavers were going to bypass the house. Regan was just about to push her way out when the door of the house was kicked in. Two batarians shoved their way inside, demanding the humans surrender. Garrett had to slap a hand over her mouth as they heard several rounds of a sub-machine gun rip through the house. She heard something thump as it landed and just knew it was one of her parents. Her fears were confirmed when she heard her father shout out. She heard him fire several shots and could make out the pained gasp of at least one of the slavers, but it wasn’t enough. A well-placed round from a shotgun reduced the man to a corpse and allowed the slavers to search the house for others.

Garrett did his best to keep his best friend quiet, knowing that all either one of them wanted to do was to spring out of their hiding spot and take out the slavers who had killed her parents. But he’d promised to keep her safe. If they just stayed hidden for a little longer, everything would be alright. They could make a break for the shelter; it was a more secure, more easily defensible location and had the benefit of being stocked with weapons and food. There was a tense moment when it appeared the slavers would find the trap door, and Regan hit the button to activate the cloaking device her father had given her. She never got to see if it actually worked, though. The batarian apparently decided he had been imagining things.

Finally, the batarians left the house. The trio waited until Garrett thought it safe, then lifted the trap door just enough to peek out. What he saw made all those war movie vids he’d watched seem like a kid’s attempt to recreate carnage. The Shepards were reduced to little more than bloody masses and he knew it would kill Regan to see them like that. But there was nothing he could do. There wasn’t time to find something to cover them with; he had to get her out and to safety.

After helping get Hopper out of the pit, Regan pulled herself up, trying not to look at her parents’ corpses. The batarians had been ruthless and shotgun blasts at short range are less than forgiving. She fought to keep the tears at bay as she felt the first twinge of real hate tickling at her heart. She could hear her best friend saying something, urging her to run, but she didn’t want to. All she wanted was to make those slavers pay.

“Dammit,” Garrett grumbled, tugging at her arm. “Regan Avalon Shepard, get your ass moving!” He knew she hated her middle name. He’d used that fact countless times when they were younger if he wanted to get her to chase him. But it was the only way to break her concentration. “Your mother and father died to keep your sorry butt safe, kid. Now, move it, _Avalon_!”

Regan just growled, wiping her eyes violently with the heel of her hand. She knew he had a point, but it just felt … wrong. “Don’t call me Avalon,” she whispered, reaching out for the sniper rifle her mother had carried. The assault rifle would have made more sense; it was lighter and didn’t require such precise aim, but she didn’t want to step through the remains of her father to get it.

At the request of her best friend, Regan used the sniper rifle’s scope to look for slavers along their route. “I … I can see four,” she whispered, surprised to feel her finger twitch against the trigger.   She _wanted_ to shoot them. She wanted to take them all out. “I … I think I can hit them from here,” she added. She was a decent shot, and the accuracy of the rifle’s scope should help as well, right?

“You might get one … maybe even two,” Garrett sighed, carefully tugging the assault rifle free of the carnage. If there were at least four slavers between them at the shelter, he was going to need it. “But the others will be able to take cover before you can get them.” He was surprised she seemed to accept his assessment and mulled over their options. If she took out the closest one, it would bring the others in closer to them. Shooting the furthest one meant she might miss, and it still might bring them closer. “See if you can take out the one closest to us. We just need to clear ourselves a path.”

Regan nodded and took aim. She took a breath and held it as she peered through the scope. With the batarian’s skull as the target, she pulled the trigger. She had no difficulty preparing for the initial recoil, but the sudden firing and recoil of two more bullets caught her by surprise. She’d never used a rifle that fired quite like that. Recovering as quickly as possible, she peered through the scope to find that the other slavers were currently casting about, looking for whomever shot their companion. “I got him,” she whispered, taking aim at a second. “I think I can hit another one before they head this way.”

“Take the shot.” If she could take out one more, they might have a chance. It might scatter the others, giving them a better path to the shelter. Of course, it might just draw the attention of other slavers nearby, but it was a chance they would have to take. “Then get ready to run. We _have_ to get out of here before someone comes back.” Garrett adjusted his hold on the assault rifle and prepared to take off once the shot was fired. He would have to lay down cover fire as they ran, and hoped it would be enough.

Now that she knew what to expect from the gun, Regan settled herself at the window once more. She sighted the next slaver and fired, whipping the recoiling rifle to the side on the off chance the second or third shot might hit another. Then, she dropped the rifle and ran, Hopper at her heels and Garrett just a step or two in front of her. She still had the pistol her father had given her strapped to her belt, but she didn’t want to pull it if she didn’t need to.

The second string of shots managed to distract the batarians long enough for the trio to make it to the first patch of cover, but from there, it was going to be far more difficult. The slavers knew someone was out there and armed. That meant they needed to move, fast. Crouched behind a large rock, she looked at Garrett and wondered what they were going to do. All she had was a pistol and Hopper. He had the assault rifle and pistol from the house. She had a full clip of ammo and no idea what Garrett’s ammo levels were, but she was fairly certain it wouldn’t be enough if they got into a standoff with the slavers. “Is it just the two of them?” she whispered, afraid to look for herself.

“I think so,” Garrett replied. He was impressed; she’d managed to not only kill the second batarian, she wounded a third. It wasn’t a lethal wound, but it _would_ slow that one down. Unfortunately, he was sure more would be on the way soon. “When I tell you, run,” he instructed, adjusting his grip on the rifle. “Run as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind you, doing my best to shoot them before they get us.” When she tried to protest, he just shook his head. “Your pistol doesn’t shoot fast enough. This thing might be enough to keep us alive.”

She knew she couldn’t argue. The assault rifle was designed to lay down numerous shots in succession. It would be far more likely to help than the little pistol she carried. She was just scared. The fear of ending up like her parents gnawed at her as she waited. She could feel Hopper tense beside her; he was feeding off her nervous energy too. Then, Garrett gave the signal and she took off, running as fast and hard as she could. It was nothing like the races the two used to have; there was no laughing or teasing. There was just gunfire and heavy breathing; they were running for their lives.

Then, the rapid-fire of Garrett’s rifle just … stopped. She chanced a look over her shoulder to see him crumpled behind her. The slavers had managed a critical shot. It was just her and Hopper now. She was on her own. She was so caught up in the sight of her dear friend’s body that she didn’t pay attention to her feet. Never the most graceful of people, she managed to trip over her own feet, tumbling forward. It didn’t slow her down, much; falling down was nothing unusual for her. But it _did_ allow the slavers chasing her to get just a little closer.

She and Hopper finally reached the door for the shelter, only to find it locked. If she’d had the time to actually think, it would have made sense; if there was anyone inside, they wanted to stay safe. But there wasn’t time for thinking. Cursing, Regan frantically tried to punch in the code every member of their town had been taught. She could hear Hopper growling, knowing the batarians were getting closer. She hadn’t shot at them, so it was likely they didn’t realize she was armed. They had to be planning on taking her alive. “Come on,” she whimpered, willing her panicked brain to think clearly. “What is the stupid code?”

She heard a fierce snarl and turned to see a shotgun pointed at her. The batarians had closed the distance and all that was left between her and slavery was the growling dog at her side. He’d fight to the death, just like her parents had … just like Garrett had. They’d all died to protect her, she wasn’t about to let Hopper die too. “Hopper, down,” she whispered, resting a hand on his head. The dog didn’t listen, precisely, but he at least didn’t lunge for them. With tears in her eyes, Regan looked at the men who had finally surrounded her. “If … I go quietly,” she sighed, hating herself. “will you let me bring my dog?” She could face any ordeal as long as he was at her side.

In response, the batarian closest to her just smiled and nodded. Regan relaxed for a second, before a shot rang out. Hopper fell to the ground, killed by a well-placed shot to the head. She stared, wide-eyed, at the body of the animal who had been her constant companion for years. He was gone; they’d killed him, even after she surrendered. With a sob, Regan looked around at the men surrounding her. She’d never get them all, but she’d take as many out as she could, now that no one was there to tell her to run.

Faster than she’d thought possible, she grabbed the pistol at her side and shot at the closest batarian. At the same time, she hit the button on the cloaking device. She disappeared from view and ran, sprinting as far away from the shelter as she could before the cloak wore off. She made it behind a nearby boulder and did her best to stay hidden as the timer ran out. If she ever had the chance, she should figure out how to make it last longer. She’d noticed it took a little time to recharge, but if she could stay hidden long enough, she could activate it again and take another shot or two before running to another hiding spot.

Regan watched the gauge on the device fill and once it was ready, she hit the button again, standing up as she disappeared from view. The batarians were scattered, looking for her angrily. She shot twice, hitting one in the arm and chest before taking off again. Her next hiding place would put most of them out of reach, but it was better than nothing. She had almost reached the rock when the cloak disappeared. In a panic, she changed direction and ran, praying she could get out of range. She risked a glance behind her, trying to figure out where her pursuers were. Of course, this meant she wasn’t paying attention to what was in front of her. In her haste, she ran right into an armed Alliance soldier.

The woman took the impact in stride, doing her best not to hurt the obviously scared girl. When Regan started to fight back, the woman just relaxed, letting the rest of her team move ahead slightly. “It’s OK, kid,” she murmured, trying to sound as comforting as possible. She was impressed the girl was still alive, and free. They’d gotten the alert and made their way to the colony as soon as they could, but it had been the common consensus that they’d be too late. Slavers were typically in and out before help could arrive. It was a stroke of luck that this group had been slower to collect, and it looked like a lot of the colonists had fought back.

“They … they killed him,” Regan whispered, finally taking the time to figure out who she was holding onto. It was human … and armored. She heard chatter coming through the woman’s comm unit and pieced together that her rescuer was an Alliance marine. “We tried to get to the shelter, but … they killed Garrett … and Hopper … and my … my parents.” She was the last of the Shepards.

“Don’t worry, kid,” the woman answered, helping the girl stand. “My squad will take care of the slavers. Let’s get you back to our ship. We’ll have the medic check you out.” She issued commands to the men and women on her squad; they were competent enough to handle a batch of batarian slavers. She was more concerned with the girl. It was hard enough losing your family to an accident or something along that line. To lose them to slavers, because they were fighting to keep you safe … that was a lot more than most people could handle. But she seemed to be calming down.

Regan followed the woman silently, trying not to look back as she heard short bursts of gunfire over and over. She knew the Alliance soldiers would make short work of the slavers. But would they be in time to save anyone else? Did anyone else manage to escape? “There’s a … a shelter back there,” she whispered as someone helped her into the waiting shuttle. “There may be people inside.”

“We’ll check it out,” the woman replied, glancing over her shoulder. The shelter was easy enough to see, but these things usually required a pass code. “Do you know the code?”

Now that she wasn’t running for her life, it was easy to remember the access code. Regan recited the numbers with little emotion, though inside she was screaming at herself for not remembering when it counted. If she’d gotten that code typed in sooner, Hopper, at least, might still be alive.

“Dr. Chakwas, make sure she’s alright,” the marine instructed, glancing at the female medic onboard. “I’m not sure how she’ll react to your partner. The slavers were all men, y’know?” When the doctor nodded, the marine saluted and turned, heading toward the indicated building. She hoped there would be more people, but it was a long shot.

Regan didn’t even notice the medic checking her over as she watched the woman jog off toward the building that was supposed to have been her salvation. She was going to find some way to make her parents proud. Maybe, when she was old enough, she could join the Alliance military too. She could help stop these things from happening to other colonies.


End file.
